


Veiled

by VanMyers



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-11-21 10:32:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18141047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanMyers/pseuds/VanMyers
Summary: After her mother disappeared a year ago under questionable circumstances, sixteen year old Desirae has been making her way in the human world using the only skill she has, crossing the border between Earth and Otherworld. When she accidentally brings a dangerous Faye through the border, she is forced to return to the magical community she left.  Can she mend old friendships and stop the Faye.This is a completed work, approx 75,000 words, so it will not go abandoned or uncompleted.  I plan to post regularly.





	1. Chapter 1

Where was he? Scanning the street, I reached into my pocket, lightly running my fingers across the items nestled inside, trying to draw some comfort from the hum of energy radiating from them. It was a small gesture, one I had done probably a dozen times since arriving, and one that had become less and less effective with each passing moment. My contact was nearly twenty minutes late, and as the minute ticked by, the fears I usually kept buried in the back of my mind crept closer to the surface. Had he been caught? Was I sitting in a trap?

Reluctantly I removed my hand from my pocket and tried to push the invading thoughts back where they belonged. I pulled the hood of my dark green coat closer around my face, more to shadow my features than to ward off the bitter cold. It was a habit bred more from paranoia than necessity. The fact that I blended in so well was the main, if not only, reason Jason used me whenever contact had to be made in a populated area. At five foot seven I was a touch on the short side for a Faye but not enough to draw attention or comment, and my brown hair and green eyes wouldn't stand out in any crowd. Even under mild scrutiny, I would pass for a Faye, but I always worried that someone would look a little too closely and see me for the intruder that I was.

Five more minutes that's all I could give him, I told myself firmly. I'd made the same declaration five minutes ago, and five minutes before that, but this time I had to stick to it. Galicia sat on the outskirts of the Summer Court, which was the only reason I'd risked staying this long, but my crossing wouldn't have gone unnoticed, even out here. It would take time for a search party to respond this far out, but they would respond. I had never left a job unfinished before and wasn't looking forward to dealing with Jason if I failed, but his anger was far more preferable to the jail cell that awaited me if I got caught.

It wasn't just the fear of being caught that had my nerves so on edge. It was everything about Otherworld. From its empty violet sky that bathed the world in a perpetual twilight to the energy saturated air that always made me feel like I was sitting in the middle of an electrical storm; I hated coming here. If I had any other reliable way to make a living, I'd be doing it. But as a sixteen-year-old runaway, my options were limited.

I was trying to decide whether to risk staying longer or abandon the job and take my chances with Jason, when my attention was drawn to an elderly man in a gray suit and tan trench coat. Leaning heavily on a wooden cane, he shuffled his way to the jewelry stand. His stoop made it hard to judge his height, but with short white hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a thin almost frail frame, he matched the vague description I'd been given well enough. Unfortunately, so had half a dozen other men I'd seen walking around. 

He stood there for a minute, talking with the shopkeeper as she tried to interest him in a particularly nice looking gold pocket watch. I was starting to think it was just a coincidence, that he wasn’t who I was waiting for when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a red handkerchief. The breath, I hadn't even realized I'd been holding, came out in a rush when he took off his glasses and began wiping the lenses. Having finally received the signal, I was impatient to get this over with, but I forced myself to remain seated. Up to this point, I was just trespassing, a serious enough offense, but contact was where the real danger was. I didn't know why this man wanted to cross the veil to Earth, and ultimately I didn't care. Someone had paid Jason for his passage, and it was my job to make it happen, but being caught with the wrong person on the wrong side of the veil could land me forgotten in a cold cell for the rest of what would be an undoubtedly short life.

Taking a moment, I carefully studied the crowd, searching for anyone who was paying too much attention to my mark or who seemed to be actively avoiding looking his way. People packed the cobbled street but other than the storekeeper, no one gave him more than a passing glance. My nerves were already stretched thin, and I hesitated. I sat there, frozen with indecision, watching as the man returned the cloth to his pocket and began glancing around, his eyes scanning the crowd as I’d just done. It was now or never; sighing I got up. Threading my way through the throngs of shoppers, I was careful to keep my hood up, and my head down. If things went bad, I didn't want anyone able to give a good description to the authorities.

"Grandfather, are you ready to go home?" I asked, coming up behind him and gently placing my hand on his arm.

He gave a small start but recovered quickly. "Whenever you are, my dear," he said, reaching up to pat my hand affectionately as if I really was his granddaughter. He flashed the shopkeeper an apologetic smile before turning to follow me. 

Keeping a hand on his elbow, I steered him away. "I thought I might have missed you," he said, once we were immersed in the crowd. 

"You almost did." The words came out a little harsher than I intended and I immediately regretted it. 

Now that I was close, I could see that he was even older than I'd initially thought. His voice had a rasping hitch to it, and his skin was so thin that a network of blue veins was clearly visible beneath the nearly transparent flesh. It was hard to determine a Faye’s age, but he had to be approaching a millennium. I'd known he would be old, but I had never envisioned the stooped, frail figure hobbling beside me. People politely made room for us, clearing a path, but our progress was still painfully slow. Keeping a firm grip on his arm, I tried not to let my frustration show, as I guided us through the crowd, one halting step at a time. We just needed to make it out of the market square, and everything would be fine.

We were a little over halfway to safety when I felt it; the cold tingling sensation of a reading brushed across my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It only lasted a split second, but it was enough to stop me in my tracks and send my heart plummeting to my stomach. I pulled the old man to a lurching stop beside me. We were so close, why couldn't they have been just a few minutes later? All around us people came to a standstill, heads pivoting back and forth as their eyes sought out the source of the intrusion. Almost as one, the angry mutters shifted to anxious whispers as all eyes focused on the group pushing their way into the crowd. My chest tightened as the five, red liveried guards headed our way. A reading large enough to cover the entire crowd would have been only the most basic. Enough to confirm my presence and little more, but it wouldn't take long for them to narrow it down. 

They were moving quickly, surrounded by a haze of energy. I couldn't tell which one was performing the readings, but their bloodhound was closing in fast. Even if I hadn't been able to see the guards, I could have tracked their movements by the crowd's reaction. Groups of shoppers visibly stiffened as they were subjected to a more focused reading and then relaxed as the guards disregarded them and moved on. Taking deep breaths, I tried to stay calm and think. This was bad, but it was no time to panic, not yet. Beside me, my companion had gone rigid. His bony fingers clinched his cane as if he had every intention of beating the guards with it if he had to. I had no idea why he was trying to escape Otherworld, but he clearly feared being caught as much as I did. 

He tried to move away, but my hand was still on his arm. I pulled back, shaking my head slightly. Glaring at me, he tried to shake my hand off, but I held tight. So far no one had focused on us, but that would change the moment we tried to move. With the rest of the crowd standing perfectly still, waiting patiently for the guards to clear them, trying to flee now would just bring the guards down on us sooner. I didn't know what his abilities were, maybe he could take on the guards, any fay's magic would be stronger than my own, but I wasn't willing to risk it, not when there were still other options. The guards were only twenty feet away, and still heading straight for us. 

Catching his eye, I tried to convey a confidence I didn't feel. "I got this," I whispered. "Just don’t move." He frowned down at me for a moment before giving a quick nod.

I risked letting go of his arm, to reach into the pocket of my coat. Thankfully, he didn't take the opportunity to run, but I could tell that he wouldn't be willing to wait long. My fingers were stiff from the cold, and I fumbled around a bit before finding the smooth, round surfaces I was searching for. My backup plan, a safety net that I always carried, but had never used. Pulling out two marbles, I cupped one in my palm while gently rolling the other back and forth between my fingers. Dropping my hand to my side, I flicked my wrist, tossing one in the direction of the guards. I watched as the red orb hit the ground, bounced a couple of times, and spun out of sight, quickly lost among the shuffling feet. 

Taking a deep breath, I made myself count to five before releasing a small flow of energy in the direction the marble had rolled. Beside me, a young woman gasped as she felt my awen flow past her. Large blue eyes turned to stare at me in horror while her mouth opened to shout a warning that never made it past her lips. My awen made contact with the marble, completing the weave I’d bound to it earlier in the week. The soft currents of air that had been flowing through the market suddenly erupted into an icy gale storm. Winds radiated out from the marble with such force that they threw everyone in the vicinity, including the closest guards, to the ground. The rest of the crowd scattered, their terrified screams shattering the silence that had pervaded the square since the guard's arrival.

With our movements masked by the panic of the crowd, I grabbed my charge and propelled him forward. Make it out of the market; that's all we needed to do to get out of this, I kept repeating to myself as I maneuvered us through the stampeding masses. More than once we almost lost our footing as the crowd surged against us jostling us from side to side as we fled. Luckily, we both managed to keep on our feet; I don’t know that either of us would have stopped for other if we’d fallen behind. I was so focused on our escape and keeping both of us from falling that I didn't see the red uniform until a strong hand seized my arm, jerking me to a stop. Long fingers dug into soft flesh as he spun me around to face him. I barely had time to process what was happening before my captor released a surge of energy from his fingertips, sending a jolt of pain radiating through my body. The agony drove all other thoughts from my mind. Crying out, I dropped the other marble as the muscles of my arm jerked uncontrollably before going lifeless.

I hung limply in his grasp, my muscles shocked into uselessness. Fear twisted a knot in my stomach as I watched him begin to knit together a shield. If he managed to get it in place, it would cut me off from my awen, ending any chance I had of escape. Unable to move my head, I couldn't see where the marble had fallen, and panic began to tighten my chest. Desperately I flung out waves of energy in every direction, hoping the marble was still close enough to do me some good. It was closer than I anticipated.  
Pain and darkness washed over me. I had to force down the urge to vomit as I fought for consciousness. My mind swam with confusion as I tried to make sense of what had happened. I thought I heard words drifting through the darkness, but they seemed muted and far away. 

"You need to get up." The words finally came to me along with the realization that someone was shaking my shoulders.

It was an effort, but I managed to open my eyes. Silver specks floated across my vision, and a fresh wave of nausea immediately sought to overwhelm me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I took several deep breaths, trying to ride out the dizzy spell.

"You need to get up," he repeated. He was kneeling over me, his wrinkled face coming slowly into focus as I opened my eyes again.

It wasn't until he grabbed my shoulders and started pulling me up that I even realized I was laying on the ground. It was a struggle, but he managed to get me into a sitting position. Looking around, I immediately wished he had left me where I was. In my panic I'd used too much of my awen, triggering a spell that was far stronger than I'd intended. All around me bodies laid sprawled on the ground. Some moved slightly or let out weak, pitiful moans, but far too many were silent and still, including the guard who was face down next to me, a shallow pool of blood gathering beneath his head. Reaching over, I placed the back of my hand in front of his mouth. A soft sob of relief bubbled forth when I felt the warmth of his breath against my skin.

"I didn't mean to." I heard myself muttering over and over again; tears clouding my vision as I took in the devastation I'd caused.  
What had I done? The air weaves weren't supposed to hurt anyone. They were meant to be distractions not weapons, causing a few scrapes and bruises, nothing more.

"Get ahold of yourself, girl," he said, shaking me. "We need to get out of here. Can you move?"

I still felt nauseous and disorientated, and there was a throbbing ache radiating from the back of my head. Tentatively I reached inside the hood of my coat, and under the hooded sweatshirt, I wore beneath. I wasn't surprised when my fingers came back wet and sticky with blood. 

"We need to move, now!" he said, his voice taken on a frantic edge as his eyes darted back and forth, skimming the crowd.

I felt battered and defeated. Like I'd just gone twelve rounds only to get knocked out at the final bell, but he was right, we needed to get moving. "Help me up," I said, reaching out for his hand. Climbing to my feet, I tried to block out the cries of fear and pain that surrounded us. Even if anyone would let me try to help them, there was nothing I could do. My meager healing skills were pathetically inadequate for this situation. I tried not to lean too heavily on my companion as he led us away, but vertigo caused my steps to falter. I tripped once or twice, but somehow he managed to keep us both upright and moving. Even with my added weight, he was remarkably steady, guiding us through what was left of the crowd. It didn't matter where we went, as long as it was isolated.

Letting him choose our path, I focused on keeping my feet beneath me. No one tried to stop us. Anyone who’d been close enough to realize we weren't' merely victims trying to escape the carnage was in no condition to impart that knowledge. Silently he led us out of the market and along a side street before steering us into a dark, dead-end alley. Letting go of him, I staggered over to one of the walls. Leaning against it, I bent over, resting my hands on my knees. I took several deep breaths, willing my mind to clear and my body to stop shaking. He stood there silently watching.

"Are you okay?" he asked when I finally stood up and stepped away from the wall. I imagined I looked like hell and concern was evident in his eyes. From the way he kept glancing back over his shoulder, I could tell he was considering cutting his losses and taking off. I was surprised he hadn't already. He could have melted into the crowd at any time, leaving me to face the consequences of being caught alone. "Can you go on?"

It wasn't a matter of whether or not I could go on. I could always go on. It was whether or not I could safely bring him with me. That was the question. He was the one the veil guarded against. The one it was meant to keep imprisoned here, not me.

Ages ago we were one race; the Tuatha De Danann. A magical, nearly immortal people, who ruled what is now Ireland. Unlike humans, we can harness and control our awen, an energy that exists in all matter, using it to manipulate ourselves and the world around us. Unfortunately, power and long life came with the drawback of low fertility. Barring accidents our ancestors could live for centuries but a woman would be lucky to bear more than a couple of children in her lifetime. When the Milesians invaded, we learned the hard lesson that numbers trumped power. A lesson that our Earth-bound elders still used to stress why we needed to continue to keep our existence a secret.

When the Milesian fleet landed on our shores, we were overrun and overwhelmed. After the deaths of all three of our kings, we had no choice but to concede defeat. With the loss of our kings, their queens, three sisters, collectively known as the Morrigan, took over leadership. They convinced the Milesians to agree to a three-day truce and return to their ships so that they could prepare their people for surrender. In a last-ditch effort to drive the invaders from their homeland, the eldest, Badb, convinced her sisters to betray the truce. Two of the three tribes chose to follow the Morrigan. Raising an immense storm, they attempted to sink the invading fleet by breaking their ships against the rocky shores where they were moored.

They held the storm for days, pounding relentlessly at the invaders. But our awen is not limitless, and their strength eventually faded. When the storm died out, they were devastated to discover that more than half the fleet had managed to retreat to deeper waters and ride out the storm. Having exhausted all their magic, the Tuatha were defenseless when the Milesians returned and defeated them once more. For their treachery, those that survived were forced into exile and imprisoned in Otherworld. They were marched in through the Sidhe mounds, and the gates were locked tight behind them. The veil was constructed between the two worlds to serve as a barrier and ensure that they would never again return to Earth. 

The third tribe, rather than break their word, fled across the channel into what would later become England and eventually into Europe. Though we still called ourselves Tuatha, we became a migrant tribe, living among the humans intermingling with them over the centuries. Eventually, we changed enough that the veil no longer saw some of us as the same race it was meant to guard against. Though not a common trait, a few of us have an awen signature so different from that of our ancestors that the veil allows us to cross back and forth without hindrance, and those of us with enough power and the right training can bring someone else through with us by masking their awen with our own.

"I can do it," I said, trying to sound as confident as I felt.

I was tired, exhausted really, and I had a headache that felt like an avalanche of rocks had come crashing down on my skull, but my awen was nearly at full strength. If I had made those air weaves on the spot, my awen would have been depleted, requiring a day or two to recover, but I had bonded those weaves to the marbles days ago. Regardless of how the rest of my body felt, my awen was practically untouched, and that was what mattered.

"I can do it," I said again when he looked less than convinced.

Without waiting for a response, I sent out a thin flow of energy. The silvery thread floated through the air, extending towards him. Most people couldn't see someone else's awen, but he felt it when I made contact. His back stiffening as my awen brushed against his skin. Tentatively, I pushed my awen into his chest, searching for the dense ball of energy that was his own awen. Once I found it, I channeled more flows, slowly wrapping his awen in a cocoon of my own. As eager as I was to get the hell out of Otherworld, I took my time, making sure each strand was firmly in place. Even the smallest hole would mean near instant death for him and most likely myself once we crossed over.

Everyone's awen felt different. The Faye's always felt foreign and wild to me, but his was the worst I'd ever encountered. Cold and savage, it fought against me, stabbing at my flows as I tried to wrap them around it. I wrestled against it, forcing the shield around it one strand at a time. As the last strand fell into place, I let go of my awen, perspiration dampening my forehead.

A flash of shock crossed the old man's face. I stepped back as his body began to jerk and convulse. The surprise wasn't unusual, but the physical response was. Most of my clients didn't realize that the shield didn't just isolate the awen from the veil; it isolated it from the owner as well. The Faye were much more dependent on their magic than we were, and most of them had an unpleasant reaction to being cut off, but I'd never seen anyone go into a seizure because of it.

He continued to shake violently, and I watched enthralled as not only muscle but bone seemed to move beneath the surface of his skin. His hunched back straightened, adding several inches to his height, while his shoulders and neck broadened. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him as his body shifted and molded itself anew. It didn't take long for me to realize this was something different, something not right. It was only a moment before my mind put it all together, but it was too late.


	2. Chapter 2

Shifter! My mind screamed. I wanted to run, but I stood there, my body unable to follow even the simplest of instructions, like move your damn feet. The only way out of the alley was past him, and I couldn't force myself to go so much as one step closer. Torn between terrified disgust and morbid fascination, all I could do was back away, and stare, slack-jawed, as the shifter twisted and spasmed in front of me, his body seeming to melt and reform as if made of clay.

I don’t know how long I stood there, enthralled, before the sounds of the guards approaching broke me from my trance. Their yells and pounding boots echoed down the narrow streets making it hard to tell which direction they were coming from. Instinctively I stepped deeper into the alley, seeking to hide in the shadows as I desperately tried to think of a way out of this mess. Preferably one that didn't end with me arrested, though if my choice was between the shifter or the guards, the guards were the better option.

The alley was a dead-end, and there was nowhere to run, but my window for running was already gone anyways. The guards were closing fast. Even if it took them a few minutes to find us, there was no way I'd get past them. The veil was my only chance, though I hadn't wanted to draw on it with the shifter so close, it was my only choice now.

Tearing my eyes away from the spectacle in front of me, I reluctantly turned around. I didn't like having my back to the shifter, but I needed room to construct the weave that Ben had taught me. The one that would connect the veil to this world. I'd done this particular spell so many times over the last year, that it usually came as easily to me as tying my shoes, but as I divided my awen into nearly a dozen individual flows of energy, I found myself struggling to maintain control of them.  
Our awen wasn't just a pool of energy resting inside us; it was an integral part of our being, attuned to our emotions and environment. Instead of the smooth, steady strands, I was used to, my awen looked and felt frayed, almost knotted in places. The threads of energy quivered with the same tremors that coursed through my body. They caught and pulled at each other, sometimes sliding from my grasp and collapsing completely.

Up until tonight, my forays into Otherworld had gone off without a hitch. I'd never needed to create a weave under these conditions, and I worried that I wasn't up to the task. Despite the cold, sweat dripped from my face as I tried to force the unruly flows into submission. For every three strands I managed to pull together two would unravel, but slowly the pattern began to take form. I let out a sob of relief when, all of a sudden, the last thread snapped into place. My nose twitched as the air around me suddenly smelt like the burnt ozone that usually followed a thunderstorm. The mist of the veil materialized a few feet in front of me.

It felt like an eternity had passed, but everything had taken little more than a minute. While I wanted nothing more than to step through, get the hell out, and pretend this night never happened; I couldn't just skip off into the veil. With the shield still in place, there was a chance the shifter could follow me through. As much as I loathed the thought of touching him again, it would take hours for the shield to dissipate on its own. I had to take it down now.

Turning around, I extended a thread of my awen back towards him. It still resisted me, but this didn't take nearly the precision that the weave had required. All I needed to do was sever one strand of my shield. It wouldn't completely unravel, but only a small hole was required to prevent him from following.

I should have run. I should have risked the guards. The shifter was a mess, his body contorting uncontrollably as it reverted to its normal shape, but as I severed the shield, he lunged at me, moving with the kind of speed and agility that seemed impossible in his present state. I tried to get out of the way; tried to throw myself towards the veil, but he was too fast. Barreling into me, his weight sent me crashing against the wall. The force of his body slamming into mine drove the air from my lungs.

Pressing his forearm against my chest, he leaned forward, bringing his face within inches of mine. His breath had the rotten sweetness of overripe fruit, and the surface of his skin rippled as if a swarm of maggots writhed beneath. I fought to catch my breath as bile began to rise in my throat.

He reached his free hand into the pocket of his coat, the material pulling tight, seams stretched near to bursting, as it tried to accommodate his new larger physique. I flinched when he withdrew a knife, and pressed its cold edge against my throat. Whether it was by design or because his hand was still unsteady, I felt a slight sting as the blade pierced my skin.

I'd been trying to stay calm, trying to keep myself from succumbing to the terror that had been steadily building inside of me, but I could no longer hold it back. The slow trickle of blood sliding down my neck brought forth the flow of frightened tears I'd been trying to suppress. Pitiful nearly incoherent pleas tumbled from my lips.

"If you want to live, put it back," he slurred, the words coming with some difficulty from his still misshapen mouth.

Sobbing, I glanced to my right. The haze of fog that indicated the border to the veil was only a few feet away. It might as well have been miles. Quickly I wove another strand to replace the one I'd cut. My control was even worse than before, and it took me a couple of attempts to even get that single thread in place.

Once the shield was whole again, he took a step back. With his body no longer pressed against mine, I felt like I could breathe again, though he still kept the knife firmly against my skin. The elderly gentleman from before was completely gone. In his place stood a much younger and larger man. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but being a Faye, he could be well into his second century. Blonde hair fell to his shoulders, and cold, pale eyes stared out from beneath a heavy brow.

"That's a smart girl," he said. "You can still walk away from this. All you have to do is get me through." Grabbing me by the arm, he yanked me away from the wall and spun me to face the veil. "But if I feel that weave shift even slightly, I'll slit your throat. Understand?"

Unable to speak, I gave the slightest nod of my head. Putting a hand on my back, he dug his fingers into the fabric of my coat, between my shoulder blades. He stepped in close behind, his blade never leaving my throat, as he pushed me forward.

Tears still blurred my vision and my heart hammered in my chest as we slowly approached the border, my feet dragging as he drove me forward. There was still time to destroy the weave and sever the connection, time to do the right thing and trap him here. He'd most certainly kill me, but at least I wouldn't be responsible for bringing a Faye assassin through to Earth. With each step, I tried to make myself reach out and unravel the weave. Tried to make myself do the right thing, but I simply couldn't. Shouts rang out behind us, but it was too late, with one last step we crossed over.

I felt the shifter stiffen behind me as the veil enveloped us. Stepping into the veil was like stepping into a fog bank, except it wasn't made of water. The veil was nothing but energy, with no physical presence it existed everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The alley we had left was still there, stretching behind us, and the sound of running feet echoed off the tall buildings that still loomed on either side of us, though everything appeared hazy and out of focus. For the moment, we existed in both worlds.

Looking behind us, I saw the guards come running, stopping just shy of the border. They were less than five feet away. A few more steps and they could grab us, but none of them dared to come any closer. They knew what would happen if they did. Still, if one of them had been willing to sacrifice himself, they could have stopped us. But stopping us wasn't worth their lives.

Reaching out with what little awen I had left, I severed the weave. The guards and Otherworld disappeared as if they'd never been. Even though we had only taken a few steps in, once I broke the connection, Otherworld ceased to exist, at least for us. In every direction, there was nothing but the endless expanse of the veil.  
When I was training, Ben would talk about how the veil made him feel completely isolated and alone as if nothing in the world existed except himself. It did the opposite for me. I always felt like someone or something was there watching, unseen eyes following my every move. Ben insisted it was my imagination, and maybe it was, but sometimes I'd swear I'd caught a glimpse of shapeless shadows moving through the fog. But it was always at a distance and out of the corner of my eye. Whenever I turned my head for a better look, they would be gone. I could feel those invisible eyes on me now.

The energy of the veil swirled around us. As always, thin, nearly transparent, threads floated through the air, while thicker, heavier cords crept across the ground, but it was different than normal, agitated somehow. Usually, the energy moved like a current through the veil, flowing by with little regard for me or my charges, having no more awareness than a river parting around a rock. But now, instead of streaming smoothly past, the current twisted and churned; silvery coils of energy branched off from the thicker cords.

The coils crept towards us, seeming to advance and retreat in rhythm with my pounding heart. I shuddered when the first made contact with my leg, wrapping itself around my ankle. It was dense enough that I could feel the fabric of my pants shift beneath its touch as it encircled my leg. I'd never seen the veil respond like this and I held my breath as it slowly started winding its way up, moving past my waist, to my chest, hovering for a moment at breast level.

Frozen, I stood there as it penetrated my chest. The coil of energy felt warm as it slid along the surface of my awen, probing it, examining it. I let out a sigh of relief when after a few moments the coil pulled back without incident. Unwinding from my waist, it extending behind me towards the shifter. I didn't turn around, but I could still tell when it made contact. I felt him tense, his fingers tightening on the back of my coat.

"What are you doing, girl?" He hissed, shifting the blade against my skin as if I needed a reminder that it was still there.

"It's not me, it's the veil," I said quickly. "Just stay calm. It will be fine." I hoped I was right. It was as if the veil sensed an intruder but couldn't quite decide if we were it.

The coil lingered on him longer than it had with me, but it eventually retreated, settling down around our feet. We stood there for a few minutes, neither one of us daring to move, as the energy of the veil swirled around us. When the tendrils did nothing more than touch, I started to walk forward, slowly at first then faster when it became evident that the veil wasn't going to do anything further. The shifter stayed close behind me.

I grew calmer the deeper we went into the veil. The coils of energy offered no resistance. They parted and reformed as we walked through them, and eventually, they pulled back entirely, rejoining the currents that were now calmly flowed past us.

It didn't matter which way we went, there was no true direction or distance, in the veil. As long as you held an image of your destination securely in your thoughts, you could enter from any place and exit at another, be it New York or London. I tried to still my mind and focus on where we were going, but the cold steel against my neck made it hard to concentrate.

We didn't monitor our side of the veil like the Faye did. There was just too much ground to cover, and we didn't have the same connection to our environment that they did. Unless another Tuatha happened to be close enough to feel the weave forming, they'd never catch you in the act, but that didn't mean there weren't any risks. The council had scouts, or what those of us on the wrong side of the law called sniffs, who could sense this level of magic from hundreds of miles away, so it wasn't a good idea to cross near where you lived or to use the same crossing point twice.

I'd spent yesterday afternoon in a park, memorizing details of the area where I was supposed to deliver my charge to whoever had paid Jason for his passage. That was back before I knew what he was, there was no way I could go there now. Even if it wasn't a trap, which it most certainly was, I didn't want to meet the kind of people who were willing to pay to have a shifter brought through.

Instead, I thought of a rural black top that I had driven down on my way to the park. When I was training Ben had always insisted that a smart smuggler should have a backup. Somewhere to go if the job went wrong or wasn't feeling right. I'd never needed to use one before, but I was glad Ben's training had stayed with me.  
Walking through the haze of the veil, I focused on a lone oak tree, it’s few remaining leaves, having already lost their fall vibrancy, desperately clinging to the last vestige of life. It sat between the asphalt and an empty field. I pictured the broken, barbed wire fence, with its rotting wooden posts and rusting wires that separated the field from the ditch where a weathered, wooden cross marked the loss of someone's loved one.

I kept that picture firmly in the corner of my mind while the rest urgently searched for a way out. I didn't believe for a second that he would let me go when we made it through. I could sever the shield anytime, leaving him to be torn apart by the veil, but I was too close. I would suffer the same fate as him, and that was only if he didn't manage to slit my throat first. Die in the veil or die on the other side, the only difference was that in one scenario he would die with me and in the other, I would have let an assassin loose in my world.

I was running out of time. Though still obscured by energy, the shape of a tree was beginning to take form about twenty feet in front of us, and the soft outline of what could be a fence beyond that. Beneath our feet, the ground had become rough and uneven like walking on loose soil. Everything was still shrouded in fog, but it was beginning to take on a firmer form. The shifter had given no indication earlier that he was able to see someone else's awen, so I risked starting the weave that would connect the veil to Earth.

I don't know if it was because my body had become used to the abject terror that was thundering through my veins, but my awen didn't fight me as it had before. I slowly laid each strand in place, careful not to connect the final piece. Cautiously, I reached into my pocket, moving slowly so as not to draw his attention. Bypassing the additional marbles, my fingers searched out one of the other trinkets I had inside. It took me a moment, but my fingers finally settled on a button, the only one I had.

Cradling the button in the palm of my hand, I tried to brace myself for what was coming next, which was a lot of pain and quite possibly my death. Steeling myself, I reached up and grabbed his forearm as I slammed my head back, making contact with his nose. Ignoring the shooting pain that radiated across my skull, I pulled with all my strength wrenching his hand and the knife away from my throat. He staggered back, his grip on my coat dragging me with him.  
Thanks to my struggles completing the weave in the alley, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me, and my awen was nearly depleted. Most of what I had left was tied up in the weave that would take me home, and that spell wasn't even completed yet. Trying to conserve as much of my awen as possible, I directed the tiniest flow I could handle into the button pressed between my palm and his forearm.

The button had a weave tied to it just like the marbles, this one designed to add to the electric current that naturally ran through the heart. Like healing, elemental magic did not come easily to me and electricity was by far my weakest element. Though it had taken a good bit of my awen to tie each weave of wind to a marble, I could get a handful done before I was spent, and the weaves would last upwards of a month. But this one button had taken every ounce of awen I had, giving me a splitting migraine in the process. It took me nearly two days to recover, and the weave would only hold for about a week. I had considered not bothering with it this time, but now I was glad that habit and caution had won out.

There was no way to direct it. The shock coursed through both of us. I'd been ready for it, but the sudden jolt of current surging through my body still caused my knees to buckle, sending me stumbling forward. My coat ripped as it tore free from his grasp.  
Yelling, he dropped the knife, clutching his arm to his chest. He staggered a few more steps backward, providing the distance I needed to make my escape. For the first time, I started to have hope that I might actually make it out of this alive.

I quickly wove the last line, completing the weave, and connecting the veil to Earth. I half fell, half ran towards the shimmering haze of the border. When I was only a few feet away, I turned around, ready to use the last of my awen to sever his shield.  
He had recovered faster than I could have anticipated and I was shocked to see that he was only a few feet behind me, having already closed most of the distance between us. He was too close, but it was too late to do anything else. I slashed at his shield. His bellow of pain turned to rage as a part of his shield dissolved exposing his own awen to the veil.

The veils reaction was instantaneous. I felt as much as saw the forms solidifying around us as distorted shapes sprang up from nothing. They encircled us like hunters converging on their prey. One stood directly between me and the opening to Earth, close enough for me to reach out and touch.  The misty shape seemed to ripple and blend with the veils energy, fading and reemerging like a ghost. It looked humanoid, standing on two legs. It was easily at least seven feet tall; its body covered in a shroud of mist, or it was a shroud of mist, I couldn’t tell. The only things I could make out clearly were a pair of yellow eyes staring at me from deep within a misty hood, and large clawed hands with nails that were several inches long and had a metallic sheen. Were these the shadowy shapes I sometimes thought I saw, stalking just out of sight, or were they manifestations of the veil’s energy, only brought to life when an intruder was detected?

It didn't really matter either way I was dead. I had hoped to be far enough ahead of the shifter that I would be outside of the ring that now surrounded us, but I hadn’t been quick enough. In front of me, the guardian opened its mouth wide, and I fell to my knees, hands clutching at my ears, as it and the others let out deafening screams that reverberated through the veil. I think I started screaming too, but I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t hear anything other than their piercing cries, and I couldn’t think as the sound seemed to burrow into my skull.

Crouched there, huddling on the ground, I waited for my unavoidably bloody end. They weren't there for me, but it didn’t matter. I was between them and their prey, and I would suffer the same fate as him, their frenzied attacks making no distinction between the two of us.  
I flinched as one of them pressed against me, but the tearing of flesh that I expected never came. Instead, I was pushed to the side as the guardian rushed past. Opening my eyes, I saw that there was now nothing between me and the exit. I didn’t question the miracle that had left me alive, and I didn't look back as the shifter screamed behind me. I lunged for the border.


	3. Chapter 3

Stumbling out of the veil, I only managed a couple of steps before the ground suddenly disappeared beneath me. Screaming, I fell to my knees, quickly losing my balance and tumbling head first into the ditch. I gasped when I hit bottom, landing on my back in a stagnant pool of rainwater. Stunned I laid there for a second staring up at the sky as the cold, musty water seeped into my clothes, soaking them.

Could anything else go wrong tonight? I wanted to yell, wanted to scream into the night in frustration; instead, I rolled over and pushed myself up, my hands sinking into several inches of mud. Disgusted, I gagged slightly as I yanked them free and quickly scrambled up the other side of the embankment and out onto the pavement.

I crawled out towards the middle of the road leaving a wet, muddy trail behind me. I ached all over, and my entire body trembled uncontrollably as what remained of my dinner made an abrupt appearance on the concrete. Groaning, I moved a few feet to the side before collapsing onto the pavement. I stayed there with my cheek pressed against the cold asphalt, a strange crying laughter bubbling forth from my throat. Unable to stop, I laid there on that dark country road, muddy hand clamped over my mouth, laughing almost manically as thin tears streamed down my face.

I laughed and cried until there was nothing left; until the exhaustion that I had been holding back threatened to overtake me, and I was in serious danger of falling asleep right there. Images of a car driving by and flattening me flittered across my mind for a moment, but I couldn’t muster enough energy to even care let alone move. I just wanted it to be over, and I wasn’t sure if I meant tonight or everything. My life had been in a tailspin for over a year now and tonight just felt like the inevitable conclusion of one bad decision after another.

The sounds of labored breathing and dragging feet interrupted my emotional spiral and brought me crashing back to reality. Lifting my head, I was stunned to see a bloody, stooped figure lurching out of the ditch. How was he still alive? I hadn’t worried about closing the gate. I didn’t have enough awen left to do it, and the odds of someone accidentally falling through it before it dissipated on its own was virtually nil. It had never occurred to me that he might have survived.

He was clearly struggling. One hand clutched at his abdomen, and from the amount of blood seeping between his fingers, there was a chance he was holding in the twisted ropes of his intestines. His other hand reached out ahead of him, towards me, his fingers bent like claws as if his only goal before death was to rip out my throat with his bare hand.

Suddenly finding the energy that had escaped me earlier, I jumped to my feet, backing away as I watched him shuffle towards me. He was a mess, stopping every few steps to sway unsteadily on his feet before continuing to stagger his way out of the ditch. I debated whether I should rush him, he was in bad shape, and I would probably win, or just run and let the blood loss do the job.

I wasn't a violent person by nature and had pretty much decided on running when he relieved me of the need to make a decision. Tripping over his own feet, he fell to the ground. He didn’t even try to get back up. I watched for a moment, wary it was some kind of trap, but his crumpled form continued to lay there unmoving.

Tentatively I crept towards him, ready to run if he made the slightest move. The shifter had barely reached the road before collapsing, and most of his body was still in the ditch, partially hidden by the tall grass. I had been stunned that he had made it out of the veil at all, but now that I got a closer look at him I could tell that he hadn't, not really.

His clothes were ripped to shreds, and blood seemed to saturate every inch of the fabric. He had fallen on his stomach, but his head was turned so that I had a clear view of his face. Bone showed white through bloody gashes on his forehead, half his nose was missing, and I didn't even want to think about the thick yellow ooze that was seeping out from under his right eyelid. I had always been a little squeamish about things happening to my eyes. That coupled with the fact that I was pretty sure he had been holding in his intestines, he was laying on his stomach, and I wasn't willing to roll him over and check, meant he had basically been a dead man walking.

A few kicks to his shoulder brought no response or signs of life. Sighing with relief, I stepped back. Even dead I wanted some distance between him and me. What I really wanted was to lay back down, but I knew if I did I would probably never get up again. The shock of his appearance had snapped me out of my emotional paralysis, but I could still feel it hovering there on the edge of my conscious ready to reassert itself if I gave it a chance. The only way to keep it at bay was to keep moving and focus on the task at hand.

With the pressing matter of survival taken care of, I was now faced with the dilemma of what to do with the body. As much as I would have liked just to leave it where it was, that really wasn't an option. What would whoever found him think happened? Mauled by a rabid raccoon, bobcat maybe?

Southern Illinois didn't have any large predators that might account for the state of his body, not unless something escaped from a zoo. Not to mention there would most definitely be an autopsy and though I didn't know that a Faye wouldn't physically pass for human, I also didn't know that he would. Having just saved myself from treason charges I wasn't eager to instead be responsible for the exposure of our kind to the humans.

I didn't know what I was going to do with him, but the first order of business was to find my car. I couldn't do much of anything without it. Kneeling next to his body, I gagged slightly as I pushed against his side, shoving him away from the road and further into the ditch. It had been a mild fall. The grass was turning brown, but it was still tall and thick. I didn't have to push him too far before I was reasonably confident any passing motorist wouldn't be able to tell that there was a dead body there, as long as I got back before the sun was up.

Reaching into the pocket of my mud-crusted jeans, I pulled out my phone. For a second I was worried the electric shock or the water might have damaged it, but the screen quickly sprang to life. Time ran differently in Otherworld and the Veil. I was surprised to see that it was almost three in the morning. I would need to get this taken care of quickly. This probably wasn't a busy road, but there was bound to be some morning traffic as people made their way to work. I entered the intersection where I had left my car and groaned when it came back with a nearly four-mile route to my destination.

Since being on my own, I'd taken up running as a way to relieve stress, and I could usually average a little under an eight-minute mile, but in my current state, I was happy to be pulling open the door of my tan focus in just under an hour. Starting the car, I cranked up the heater and turned the heated seats on max hoping the warmth would ease some of the tension from my back and shoulders.

Grabbing the water bottle on the passenger seat, I opened my door and quickly rinsed the mud from my hands before pouring a little onto a clean part of my coat and wiping the crusted dirt from my chin. I wanted nothing more than to say screw it and drive home, but instead, I threw the bottle back onto the passenger seat and pulled away from the curb. I followed the GPS route back to where I had left the shifter. As I drove, I tried not to focus on the fact that I was about to have a bloody dead body in my trunk with no plan on what to do with it afterward.

When I reached the spot, I slowed down, scanning the ditch but there was no sign of the body. I made a quick U-turn and drove back, unsure that I remembered exactly where I had left him. After a couple of passes, I pulled over and grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment. Walking along the side of the road, I shined my light into the grass. Maybe he had slid further into the ditch. It didn’t take me long to find the spot where I’d left him. Blood and a body sized indention still marred the grass, but there was no actual body.

I pointed the flashlight out towards the field, my trembling hand causing the beam to bounce erratically as I swung it back and forth. The fields were empty this time of year, but that didn't mean he wasn't crouched down, hidden from view by the mounds of uneven ground. A mental image of the shifter waiting somewhere in the shadows, liquid leaking from his ruined eye while his other one watched me, crowded out all other thoughts.

Trying not to look like I was fleeing in terror, I backed away to my car. Once inside I locked the doors and sat there for a moment, my eyes glued to the field. Should I go out and look again? Even if he wasn’t as dead as I’d thought, he was seriously injured and shouldn't have been able to get far. I had a tire iron in the trunk and could finish it if I had to. Well maybe. Probably not. Leaving him to die in the veil wasn't the same as doing it myself. Could his shifting ability also mean he was able to heal quickly? It wasn't a stretch. If he could change his body so completely, what would prevent him from merely binding the skin of his wounds back together? Was every moment I sat here a moment in which he grew stronger until he was able to come after me again? Screw it; I thought as I threw the car into drive.


	4. Chapter 4

The eastern sky was beginning to show the first signs of sunrise when I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment building. The two-and-a-half-hour drive had passed in a haze of loud rock music and black coffee that I'd picked up at a truck stop on the way. I didn't really like coffee, certainly not black, and the drink had left a bitter coating on my tongue, but it was better than crashing because I fell asleep.

Even with the heated seats, the long drive had given my muscles time to tighten and cramp. My back and shoulders ached nearly as much as my head, and I had a throbbing pain in my hip. Stiffly, I climbed out of the car, every part of my body protesting the movement. I carefully limped my way through the gravel parking lot that was more potholes than anything else. The heavy back door squeaked, loudly announcing my arrival to any of the neighbors who happened to be awake this early.

My building was a large two-story brick house that had been converted into apartments a few years back, two on each floor with extra storage in the attic and basement. It wasn't bad as far as old buildings went and even had a bit of rustic charm with its original wood trim and high ceilings. The pipes rattled, and it took forever for hot water to reach the second floor but everything worked, for the most part, and when it didn't Todd was quick to respond to any complaints. You didn't want to go around scraping the paint, but at least you weren't going to find mice or roaches running around.

It was nice not to have to live in a slum but what really mattered was the landlord, Mrs. Vannote. She was pleasant if a somewhat absent-minded older lady who accepted cash, didn't run background checks, and never asked questions. As long as you were on time with the rent and didn't have the neighbors complaining about the noise, she didn't look too closely into who you were or what you were doing. Which was kind of surprising, since I’d always associated women her age as being incessant busybodies.

Of course, it meant that some of her tenants weren't always upstanding citizens, but I had no room to complain as far as that went. I had never had any problems with anyone, and her lack of interest in who I was or anything else about me had been a godsend when I was fifteen trying to pass for eighteen. I'd been here for almost a year now and my biggest issue had been a neighbor's dog that didn't seem to like me too much.  
I paused to check my mailbox in the main hall, nothing but the usual junk, before climbing the steps. I shared the second floor with a college student, and I could hear her moving around in her apartment. My previous neighbor had been less than friendly which had suited me fine, but he had moved out a little over four months ago, and Sally had moved in. She tended to want to talk whenever she knew I was around, and no matter how carefully I tried to avoid her, she had the uncanny knack of always catching me out in the hall. In less than a week I'd known more about her than I'd ever known about any of my other neighbors. Tiptoeing down the hall, I unlocked the deadbolt as quietly as possible, slipping into my apartment.

Flipping the lock behind me, I threw the mail on the kitchen table before stumbling into the living room and practically falling face first onto the couch. I was supposed to check in with Jason at eight, and I knew I should be feeling anxious about the missing shifter, but fatigue had pushed any concerns I should have had to the back of my mind. I remembered laying on the couch thinking I'd close my eyes for a second, but it was only a half-formed thought before sleep overtook me.

The apartment was dark when I woke, and it took me a moment to realize that the pounding I was hearing wasn't lingering noise from my dreams. Groggy, I wiped the grainy residue from my eyes as I sat up confused and disorientated. I'd been dreaming about home, and it took a moment for my mind to comprehend why I was laying on an uncomfortable couch and not a bed, snuggled beneath my yellow comforter.

The digital clock on the shelf read six p.m., and someone was pounding on my door, each strike causing the wood to tremble in its frame. It wasn't a very sturdy door, and it sounded like they were going to break through any minute. As my mind began to clear, I realized whoever was pounding on my door was calling my name. I recognized the voice.

"Desirae, open the door, or I'm coming in." Ben yelled, and I cringed at what my neighbors were probably thinking. They were probably thinking of calling the cops if they hadn't already.

"One second," I called out, my voice thick with sleep. I wasn't sure I had said it loud enough to be heard, but the pounding stopped.

My neck felt stiff from the odd angle I'd slept at, and my mouth felt like I'd tried to eat a bag of cotton balls. I hadn't even bothered to take off my coat, leaving me uncomfortably warm and dehydrated. Shifting on the couch, I took off my jacket. I was disgusted to find that the dried mud from my jeans and coat had broken off in chunks, coating the couch cushions and floor in a layer of dirt. A quick check of my phone showed I'd slept through more than a dozen calls, the last a little over an hour ago. All were from a private number that I was sure was Jason's newest burner phone. Flipping on the living room light, I went and opened the door.

"You look like shit, kid," Ben said, as he pushed past me, not even waiting for an invitation.

"Sure, come on in," I muttered, closing the door behind him while trying to stifle a yawn. "Why are you here?"

"You had Jason worried when you didn't check in." He walked through the living room and down the short hall, peering into my bathroom and bedroom as if he thought I might be hiding someone in there. "He asked me to pay you a visit, make sure you were okay," he continued, returning to the living room. He moved to sit on the couch but changed his mind when he saw the fresh dirt scattered on the cushion and ground into the tan fabric.

"So, what happened? Why didn't you check in?" he asked, sitting in the too small armchair instead.

Sighing, I walked over to the breakfast bar that separated the small kitchen from the only slightly larger living room. "Has he spoken with the client yet?" I asked, leaning against the counter, taking some of the pressure off of my still sore back.

I had wanted time to think about what I was going to say before I contacted Jason and having Ben suddenly here was throwing me off a little. It's not that I distrusted him or Jason but I didn't exactly trust them either. I knew exactly what they were and where their loyalties rested, squarely with themselves.

"Not that he mentioned. Are they going to complain?" he asked, leaning forward studying me. Their business relied heavily on reputation and word of mouth; an unhappy customer was unlikely to send others their way.  
It had crossed my mind that Jason and Ben already knew what I was bringing across. They held no real allegiances to anyone or anything, and for enough money, they would probably even sell out each other. I didn't want to believe it, but there was always the chance that they'd known exactly what I'd been heading into.

I wanted to hint around, maybe find out how much he knew before I admitted to anything. I fumbled around for a way to lead into it, but a rapidly approaching headache left my mind feeling foggy and my thoughts scattered. "He was a shifter," I finally admitted, unable to think of anything else to say.

"What?" He asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I brought a shifter through," I said again, inwardly flinching at the admission.

I'd been watching for a reaction, any reaction, but he was so quick that he was on top of me before I realized what was happening. Grabbing my arms, he pushed me until my back rested against the door.

"You brought a shifter through the veil." He leaned forward, his voice all but hissing with accusation. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I didn't want to die." I tried to snap back, but the tremor in my voice sounded more scared than angry. It was too much like what the shifter had done. The wood door against my back felt like the cold wall of the alley, and I could swear I felt a knife pressing against my neck though both of Ben's hands were gripping my arms. "It's not like he gave me much of a choice."

"There's always a choice," he said, letting go of me and taking a step back. "Dammit Desirae," he said, running a hand over his bald head. "This whole thing works because we fly under the radar. This is not under the radar. Are you even sure it was a shifter? How do you know?" He asked.

"Probably because he practically melted in front of me when I cut off his awen," I said, readjusting my shirt.

It was comforting that he at least seemed genuinely taken aback by my announcement. Concern bordering on fear colored his dark eyes and whether it was for the shifter or what the Council might do when they found out didn't matter, the fact that he was afraid at all made me feel better. He hadn't known.

"Listen, I'm sorry, okay, but can you honestly say you or anyone else would have let him kill you rather than take him across?" I asked, knowing full well that he wouldn't have. "I tried, I seriously tried to lose him in the veil. There's a chance that he might be dead for all I know."

"What do you mean? What happened to him?"

"He looked dead when I went to get my car," I said, not wanting to talk about what happened in the veil. "But he wasn't there when I got back. There's a chance he didn't get far."

"I need to know exactly where you brought him out at." He said, grabbing a sheet of paper from the notepad on the table and pushing it towards me. "Is there anything that's going to bring a sniff nosing around?" He asked, a sharp edge creeping into his voice as he passed me a pen from his pocket.

I didn't want to admit that I'd left the weave open, which definitely increased the odds of the wrong person feeling it and coming to investigate. I was already on thin ice, and I wasn't sure how he'd handle that bit of news. Fortunately, his phone rang saving me from having to answer.

"Yeah, I'm here now." It must have been Jason. "No, she's fine, but we have a problem." He tapped the table and pointed at the paper he had given me before stepping out into the hall, closing the door behind him. I thought about locking it but it wouldn't have made a difference.

Tiptoeing forward, I pressed my ear against to door to listen. Ben's voice raised a few times, clearly in some kind of argument with Jason, but he'd walked down the hall, and I couldn't quite make out what he was saying. Giving up, I turned back to the table, picking up the pen and paper. I had mostly driven country roads, but I quickly sketched him a rough map with the major roads and landmarks I could remember. We were grasping at straws, and I knew it. The shifter was long gone, but at least it felt like something was being done, even if it was too little too late.

"Have you told anyone else?" Ben asked, stepping back into the kitchen the accusations back in his voice. He put his phone back into his pocket and grabbed the map, studying it.

"No, I swear. I was exhausted, and I fell asleep. I was out until you woke me," I promised. "I haven't told anyone, but you guys need to. Notify the Vanguard or someone," I pleaded.  
I might have left the Tuathan community, but that didn't mean I had abandoned all loyalties. There were only a few reasons for a shifter to come over to this side of the veil and none of them were good. Infiltration, assassination, whatever the game was, the proper authorities needed to be warned. You didn't get to where Jason and Ben were without having friends, or at least reliable contacts, in high places and I was sure they could get the information to whoever needed it, if they wanted to.

"You need to keep this to yourself," he said, slipping the map into his jacket. "We'll handle the rest."

I nodded in agreement. I never used to be a suspicious person, but nowadays my survival practically demanded it and Ben's words didn't inspire much confidence. He was going to try to sweep this mess under the rug, and if he thought for a second that I was going to disobey or cause problems, I had a feeling that he'd sweep me under with it.

"Jason says you technically completed the job, so here's your payment," he said, reluctantly withdrawing a large white envelope from the inside of his jacket. He held it against his chest for a moment, studying me, as if he was having second thoughts, before finally handing it to me. I could guess this was one of the things he had been arguing with Jason about out in the hall.

Smuggling was a profitable business; it wouldn't be worth the risks if it weren't. My standard fee was five grand, and from the weight and bulge of the envelope, it was all there. Hesitantly I reached out, grabbing the money. Ben and Jason weren’t the generous types nor were they usually willing to part with money on technicalities. If I hadn't already been uneasy about my future prospects with them, the fact that he was handing over the money after the mess I'd made, would have set off warning bells in my head, as it was they were already ringing loud and clear.

"Lay low for a while; we'll contact you," he said before walking to the door.

With a promise that I would do as he asked he left. Closing the door, I leaned back against the wood and slid down to the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest. Staring at the blank white paper, I absently turned the envelope back and forth between my fingers. I had hoped that telling Ben would relieve some of the guilt that had been building in the pit of my stomach but if anything, it had made it worse. I had no real confidence Jason or Ben would notify anyone. They had too much to lose.

I couldn't decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. The last twenty-four hours had been a complete disaster and it didn't look like things were going to get better anytime soon. Dirt scratched my skin as I rested my head on my knees and I realized I was still wearing last night's torn, dirt crusted clothes. I felt grimy, and even after sleeping all day, I was drained. Five minutes in the shower and I might actually be able to think straight.

Dragging myself off of the floor, I stumbled into the bedroom. Wanting nothing more than to put on a pair of warm flannel pajamas, I made myself pull out a sweater and jeans instead; regardless of what I decided to do, I had a feeling I wouldn't be staying here much longer. Turning on the shower, I started getting undressed while giving the water time to heat up. I glanced in the mirror and immediately regretted it. Even after nearly ten hours of sleep I still had dark circles and a definite sallow tinge to my eyes. Scratches marred one of my cheeks, and I couldn't stop my hand from shaking as I ran a finger along the thin line of dried blood that marked my neck.

Pulling my hoody off, I winced as the fabric that was sticking to the wound on the back of my head tore free, taking part of the newly formed scab with it. A fresh trickle of blood slid through my hair and down my scalp. My hair, with its thick chestnut waves, was usually my best feature, but now it was an oily matted mess.

As I finished undressing, I took note of the various scrapes and bruises that covered the rest of my body, but other than a large bruise on my right hip and the abrasion on my head, nothing seemed to be too serious. Though with the way my thoughts still seemed slow and scattered I was pretty sure I had some kind of concussion.

Twenty minutes later I was back on the couch feeling considerably cleaner and somewhat less sore. A piece of gauze and some tape formed a makeshift bandage on the back of my head. The rest of my injuries had been superficial, needing no more care than a good cleaning. While showering, I had decided that I definitely couldn't trust Jason and Ben to do the right thing and once I'd reached that conclusion, there was only one option left. But knowing what I needed to do and mustering the courage to do it was two different things. It's just a phone call, an anonymous phone call, I chided myself after having sat there for several minutes staring at my phone.  
Hitting the screen, a little harder than necessary, I dialed the ten digits every Tuathan knew by heart.

"Danu International, how may I direct your call?" a pleasant voice answered immediately.

"Vanguard unit please," I said my voice breaking slightly at the end.

"One moment please," the voice said, followed by cheerful hold music.

"Vanguard, Agent Klein speaking." A much less pleasant voice answered a few seconds later. "Can I help you?" he repeated when I didn't answer right away.

"I'd like to report an illegal crossing," I stammered, pushing the words past the lump in my throat.

Otherworld was only about the size of Montana. The limited area and the Faye's unique connection to their world allowed them to monitor the veil on their end. Each court covered their own realms, and as for the areas that neither court claimed, well you didn't want to be crossing over into them anyways. It wasn't the same on the Earth side. Even if we had the same connection to our world that they did, the sheer size made monitoring impossible.

"Name?" he asked, a keyboard clicking in the background.

"Can I be anonymous?"

There was an audible sigh before he continued, sounding even less interested than before. "When and where did it occur?"

I hesitated, unsure if I should give him the Earth side or Otherworld crossing point.

"When and Where?" He repeated, his words terse.

"Last night in Galicia." I blurted.

Giving the location in Otherworld was pretty much admitting I had been involved, at least in some way, but the Earth side crossing was just a little too close to home. Not to mention Ben would kill me if he thought I had sent the Vanguard to where he was presumably checking for the shifter. That’s if he wasn't already planning to come back and kill me anyways.

There was a moment of silence from the other end of the line before he spoke again, the indifference gone from his voice. "What's your name?" This time it was a demand rather than a request.

I hung up the phone. It rung again almost immediately. I sent it straight to voicemail. It rung again a minute later, this time I let it continue ringing. Could they trace the call? Of course, they could. Should have thought about that beforehand. My phone was one I'd picked up at the local Walmart, with no contract and nothing attaching my name or address to the number but it still had a GPS chip.

I resisted the urge to go look out the window as if someone would already be in the street watching. Why hadn't I at least left my apartment before calling? It wouldn't take them long to figure out who I was. I hadn't bothered with a fake name when I rented the apartment. A quick review of the mailboxes downstairs would send them straight to my door.

There wasn't much I could do about it now. I had already half decided that I didn't trust Jason and Ben enough to stay, but now there really was no choice. I could either wait here for the inevitable knock on my door; if they were polite enough to knock, or I could run. If I left now, I might get enough of a head start to avoid any sniffs that tried to follow. Ben said I needed to lay low, what I needed to do was disappear. Start a new life somewhere else.

Cursing myself for being so stupid, I left my phone on the couch and went into the bedroom. Pulling a duffel bag from the closet, I rummaged through my drawers, throwing in a couple of pairs of jeans, some sweaters, a few Tees, and my sneakers; stuffing socks, underwear, and a few toiletries into the remaining crevices. I zipped up the bag and surveyed the room, not wanting to forget anything. There wasn't really anything to forget. The room was practically empty, my entire existence shrunk down to a single duffel bag.

When I first ran away, I'd been broke, but since falling in with Jason, I made more than enough money to live comfortably, but I just couldn’t bring myself to care about anything anymore. I had no motivation, no drive, my hobbies replaced by TV and too much sleep. The only thing I had made time for was running, which was more to keep myself sane than anything else. That had become my life, every bit as sad as it sounded.  
But I didn't plan for this to become permanent, there was no way I was smuggling for the rest of my life. My current situation was bred from desperation, and temporary. I had no intentions of continuing down this path. Even if I wasn't motivated to live my life now, I was motivated for the future. A future where I didn't have to look over my shoulder or worry about who was knocking at the door.

Almost every extra penny I made went into a savings account for college. Get my GED, graduate college, and then live the rest of my life discreetly among humans. Never having anything to do with the Tuathans or magic again. That had been the plan. But now it was all falling apart.

Throwing the duffel over my shoulder, I took one last look around. I don't know why; I wasn't going to miss this place. I'd never considered it my home, just somewhere to stay so I wasn't out on the street. I unhooked the apartment key from my keyring and set it on the counter before grabbing my coat and purse. I didn't bother engaging the lock behind me. If anyone came looking for me, hopefully, they'd try the knob first and save Mrs. Vannote the hassle of having to replace the door.


	5. Chapter 5

The best place to hide is in plain sight. There was no lesson we'd taken more to heart from our years of wandering after the exile, when our very survival depended on blending in, on integrating ourselves into the cultures around us. Sitting at a small table, I watched as men and women filed in and out of Danu International Shipping. With its wide curving concrete steps and large glass doors, the ten-story white brick edifice looked like any other upscale office building in the bustling downtown district. No one walking by gave it a second look, and no one would ever guess it was the Consulate headquarters and core of Tuathan society.

Not that it was all just a front. The first three floors were in fact, an international shipping company, a highly respected and profitable one that provided the majority of our government funding. It was just the rest that was kept a closely guarded secret.

I'd been almost two hours into my drive to Chicago, with every intention of catching the first plane heading west; California, Washington it didn't matter as long as it put some distance between me and the people I knew were coming, when guilt and paranoia began creeping up on me. Attempting to drown them out, I'd cranked up the volume on a rock station and started singing along, badly, to a Kansas classic. After all, I'd already given them a heads up. I'd done my part, I didn't owe them anything else, I told myself in between choruses of Carry On Wayward Son, but the excuses sounded weak even to my own ears.

I was just south of Joliet when I couldn't take it anymore. Clutching the wheel, I cut across two lanes of traffic, veering onto the exit. It probably would have been quicker to continue on to O'Hare and catch a flight heading east rather than west, but I wasn't quite ready for that level of commitment to a plan that wasn't even half-formed yet and quite possibly insane. As long as I was driving there was still time to come to my senses, change my mind, and turn around.

I took I-80 heading east, my tan focus shimmying as I pushed the speedometer past one hundred. I wasn't entirely sure of my intentions, but I knew I couldn't run, no matter how much I wanted to. I felt responsible for the shifter. I was responsible for the shifter, and I had a duty to do what I could about it. Besides, I was a fugitive now, not just a runaway and that pushed the stakes higher than I was prepared to deal with. Go back now on my own or risk being dragged back later.

Driving all night, I passed the sign welcoming me to Virginia right around sunrise and pulled into a downtown parking deck a little after eight. I'd been determined to walk right into the Consulate and announce to security that I was there to turn myself in, but as my steps brought me closer to my destination my resolve faltered, and I now found myself sitting in a small diner, down the block from the shining glass doors, sipping orange juice with an untouched breakfast platter sitting in front of me.

I'd like to say that it was a sense of responsibility that had driven me this far but to be honest it was mostly fear. Fear of spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, worrying that every stranger on the street or knock on the door was someone coming for me. And because it was fear that had gotten me here, it was fear that stopped me from going any further. Maybe life on the run was the better choice after all.

Whatever I was going to decide, I had to do it soon. Around me, the tables were starting to fill up with the morning regulars, and my waitress kept giving me the eye, the one that said I was overstaying my welcome. I couldn't hang around much longer, but I couldn't bring myself to get up and leave either.

"Miss. Cradle?" a voice said from behind me.

I jumped as I felt a shield snap in place, cutting me off from my awen, moments before a strong hand came down on my shoulder. It was the same as what I'd done to the shifter but where it had taken me a couple of minutes to weave a complete shield this one was in place before I even realized anything was happening. The fork I was holding clattered noisily to the table. Swallowing, I turned my head to look over my shoulder.

I couldn't make myself immediately look at the man who held me. Instead, my eyes rested on long fingers with clean neatly trimmed nails. Slowly they traveled past a steel watch to a buttoned white cuff, then skimmed up the length of a pressed blue sleeve to a set of broad shoulders before continuing upwards past a gray striped tie tucked into a dark vest. They moved past a strong jaw, lingered on full red lips that any girl would kill for, before taking in a slightly too long nose, and finally completing their path, making contact with a pair of heavily lashed brown eyes. In his early twenties, his suit was well tailored emphasizing a trim athletic build. Dark blonde bangs hung slightly in his eyes adding a hint of boyishness to a look that was otherwise all business.

He was tall, towering over me, and his stare made me feel like a bug pinned to a cork board; a beetle, not a butterfly. I could feel the warmth of a blush radiating across my cheeks, and I dropped my eyes. Where he was fresh and polished, I was anything but. I still wore the same sweater and jeans I'd put on last night. After nearly a twelve hour drive they were wrinkled and sporting an unidentifiable stain a few inches below where his fingers rested. I was grateful that I'd at least removed the makeshift bandage and brushed my hair before getting out of the car. I'd have been mortified if I'd still had a piece of gauze taped to the back of my head.

"Desirae Cradle?" he asked again.

"Yes," I said, my voice squeaking slightly as I turned to look at him again. There was no use trying to lie. He wouldn't have approached if he wasn't already sure.

He wasn't alone. Another agent, his head shaved smooth, stood a few feet behind him. He was a few inches shorter but had ten years and a good fifty pounds of muscle on the blonde. He was dressed almost identically, except his tie hung loose, and the dark head of a bird tattoo peeked out from behind his unbuttoned collar. I found myself shifting uncomfortably as his gray blue eyes seemed to burrow into me.

His hand rested with his thumb hooked on his belt. He had discreetly pushed aside his jacket so I could clearly see the badge and gun resting on his hip. Not that either was necessary. It was obvious who they were, and they didn't need a weapon to make me compliant. The blonde's shield had gotten my attention more than any overt threat could.

"I'm guessing it's not a coincidence that you're here today after your name and picture came across the bulletins last night," the blonde agent said, almost conversationally.

He kept his voice low, and I could tell from the way his partner's eyes kept darting around the room, that they were trying not to draw too much attention. We weren't in a Tuathan establishment, and the Vanguard had no real authority here. If anyone wanted to press them on why two men were harassing a young girl, they would have little recourse.

I thought about causing the scene they were clearly trying to avoid. Was taking me in important enough to risk exposing themselves? Not that they didn't have ways to clean that up, but was I worth it? I quickly dismissed the idea, after all, I had been planning to turn myself in anyways, and there was a strong possibility that they would find taking me in worth the risk.

"We're going to need you to come with us," he said, releasing my shoulder and stepping back so I could get up. His partner moved in a little closer as if he thought I would try to make a run for it. The thought was laughable, cut off from my awen I had no chance of escaping.

"Am I under arrest?"

"Do you need to be?" the blonde asked.

I quickly shook my head. My hand trembled as I reached down to grab my purse, tucked under the table, but he was quicker, seizing the strap before I could reach it.

"We'll get this," he said, passing it off to his partner.

"I have to pay the bill," I said weakly, noticing the waitress eyeing us.

I had money in my purse, the envelope Ben had given me, but the blonde reached into his jacket and pulled out a wallet. He put down a few bills that were more than enough to cover the tab, at least the waitress was going to get a good tip.

Shakily I stood up grateful that my legs didn't promptly deposit me on the floor; I hadn't been a hundred percent sure they would be willing to support me. Hesitating, I waited until the blonde gave me a nod to go ahead before I moved. I walked out the door, the two of them following right behind, close enough to touch; though neither did. If anyone thought it was odd to see two men in suits, one of them caring a purse, escorting a teenager in a worn sweatshirt and jeans down the sidewalk, they didn't say anything.

Self-conscious to the point of hyper-awareness, every movement suddenly felt exaggerated and unnatural. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, and I couldn't decide what to do with my hands. Repeatedly I put them in my pockets and then quickly took them back out, lest they think I was reaching for something, only to have them hang clumsily at my sides for a few moments before crossing them in front of my chest and then repeating the whole sequence over again.

My steps became awkward, and the simple process of walking became a near impossible task requiring deep concentration. I'm not a naturally clumsy person, and I was mortified when for the second time the younger agent grabbed my arm to save me from a nasty fall after stumbling over my own feet. I could feel the heat of embarrassment spreading from my cheeks, down my neck.

It was less than two blocks from the diner, but by the time we reached the steps, I felt mentally and physically drained as if we'd been walking for miles. Climbing the broad steps I was amazed when I managed to make it to the glass doors without falling on my face. Once inside and out of the public eye, I expected the show of courtesy to melt away, replaced by steel handcuffs, but neither agent made a move to restrain me as we walked across the lobby.

I had only been to the Consulate twice, once on a civics field trip in sixth grade and the night I ran away. It looked just as I remembered, a bit smaller but no less imposing. The lobby was expansive with white marble floors and a ceiling that vaulted to the second story. The walls were a dark golden color complemented by green accents and the soft light of three large circular chandeliers.

A mahogany reception desk sat near the front of the lobby, manned by two impeccably dressed women whose sole job was to make sure no humans accidentally found themselves in an area they shouldn't be. We bypassed the women at the desk heading behind them, where security guards checked identifications and monitored a row of metal detectors.

Most of the people walking through the detectors continued on their way, but a few were pulled aside for further screening by one of the guards. I could see the faint glowing lines of a detection weave meant to sense any magical items that the conventional detectors would have missed.

They made me think of the bonded weaves I had sitting in a drawer back at the apartment not to mention those still in the pocket of the muddy coat I'd left in my car. I should have taken a minute to unravel them before leaving. Since I only ever brought them with me into Otherworld, I hadn't bothered to tie them to my specific awen signature. Anyone channeling enough energy in their direction could set them off.

I considered mentioning them to the agents next to me, but I was having trouble finding my voice. Besides, by this time my apartment would have been thoroughly searched and the items already found. Whoever was sent to ransack through my things should have been careful, but I'd hate to for them to think I’d left the weaves as some kind of booby-trap. Just add it to the list of things I should have thought about.

Moving to join the queue waiting to pass through the detectors, I was surprised when a hand on my back directed me to the side instead. The Agents flashed their IDs, and the guard waved us through, bypassing security entirely. Clearly, they didn't see me as much of a threat. They hadn't even bothered to frisk me, and now we were ignoring standard security. Of course, with my awen blocked there wasn’t much I could do. The only indication that they had any concerns at all, was when the bald agent waved off a couple of people who tried to join us on the elevator.

We rode in silence to the seventh floor. The second agent trailed behind as I followed the blonde down the hallway, our steps echoing off the gray tile. I felt a chill run down my spine as an unpleasant sense of déjà vu rushed over me.

I don't know what had happened; they wouldn't give me any details. All I knew was that neighbors had reported some kind of disturbance at our house, and my mom was missing. With less than a month left in my freshman year, Vanguard agents descended on my school, yanked me from class and escorted me out in front of what felt like half the student body. They rummaged through my bag and my locker looking for who knows what. From the questions they asked, I don't think they knew precisely what had happened or what they were looking for. They wanted to know who my mother really was. I insisted she was Carolyn Cradle; she wrote historical fiction and loved quilting.

They wanted to know who her friends were and if anyone came by the house. As far as I knew my mom didn't have any close friends, it was just her and me, and my friends where the only people who ever came by. I'd cried and begged to know what was going on, what had happened to my mom. I didn't get any answers, instead what I got was the complete destruction of my entire world.

Once it was clear that I didn't know anything I’d been moved down to the social service offices on the third floor. I sat in the hallway in an uncomfortable plastic chair while they tried to decide what to do with me. Their offices weren't soundproof, and though I couldn't hear everything, I heard enough. While they had been busy interviewing me, several other agents had been digging into every aspect of our lives and what they discovered made my blood run cold.

Carolyn Cradle didn't exist. Well, Carolyn Cradle-Palmer existed or had existed. She had died two years ago, along with her husband and fifteen-year-old son, in a house fire outside Toronto. She was the real Carolyn Cradle, the one whose name was written in the genealogy books stored in the archives. The one who had decided to break ties to the Tuatha community and live as a human. My mother was just the woman who'd come to town fifteen years ago with a stolen identity and a newborn daughter.

Looking back, I guess I should have found it odd that it was only my mom and me. Tuatha families tended to be small but close-knit, generation after generation living in the same area. My father had been little more than a one night stand from college, and he'd skipped out before I was born. Mom was an only child, and my grandparents had died while she was still in high school, or so she'd always told me, but there should have been other relatives, great aunts, and uncles, cousins twice removed but there had been no one. If mom and I hadn't been so close, I might have noticed the absence of everyone else, but I'd never felt like I needed anyone but her.

I'd sat there numb for at least another hour wondering who my mother was if she wasn't Carolyn Cradle and who I was. It didn't take long for my mind to turn to darker questions. Was she even my mother at all? What about my father, had he really left us? Was he just a fake name on a fake birth certificate? Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I asked to go to the bathroom and then walked out of the building and never looked back.

I'd planned never to come back, yet here I was. Keeping my head down, I followed the agent down the hall which ended in a large open office space. Desks were arranged in groups of four on a thick blue carpet that did its best to muffle some of the noise. The desks were mostly empty, but a buzz of conversation permeated the room. No one more than glanced our way as I was led along a wall lined with doors leading to individual offices or private meeting rooms. At the far end, the Agent stopped and opened the door nodding for me to go in. Posted next to the door was a sign stating that all interviews were monitored and subject to recording.


	6. Chapter 6

The room was warm, almost hot, and I could feel sweat beginning to slide down the small of my back the moment I stepped inside. It was probably intentional, easier to manipulate the suspect if they were uncomfortable and agitated. It looked exactly like I expected an interrogation room to look. A heavy metal desk was bolted down to the concrete floor in the middle of the room. Chairs sat on either side, the one facing the two-way mirror was also bolted down and had two small hooks on the arms for restraints. A small analog clock ticked loudly on the wall across from the mirror, while a single row of fluorescent lights cast a blue glow over dingy white walls. In the corner perched a camera, its light flashing green.

"Go ahead and have a seat," the Agent said, with a nod to the bolted down chair. "Someone will be with you shortly. Can I get you water or anything?" Unable to find my voice, I just shook my head.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, a wave of terror suddenly washed over me, and my hand was on the brass knob before I even realized what I was doing. Shocked, I stared down at my fingers, clinched so tight that the knuckles were starting to turn white. I stood there every muscle in my body ridged as I fought the urge to rip the door open, rush out, and beg him to come back, to not leave me in here alone.

What was wrong with me? He'd been nice enough, but I didn't trust him, I wasn't that stupid, so why did I now want nothing more than to have him back in the room with me. His presence had brought with it a sense of calmness that was only apparent now by its absence and the fear I should have had this entire time came rushing in, threatening to drown me. Was it something he'd intentionally done? I hadn't seen any weaves, and emotional manipulation was supposed to be an extinct talent, one of the many we'd lost over the centuries of intermingling our bloodlines with the humans, but who really knew what those in the Vanguard were capable of.

He had to have done something. Why else would I have willing walked into a place that I knew I might never walk out of. Sure, I'd been uncomfortable, nervous even, ever since they found me in the diner but I should have been knee knocking, heart pounding terrified, the kind of terror that I now felt clawing at my mind. The question was, why had he done it. Was he standing just on the other side of the door, waiting for me to rush out, promising to tell him everything as long as he came back because that's what I felt like doing, what my mind was screaming at me to do.

Whatever the reason, I wasn't going to let him manipulate me any further. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pried my fingers from their death grip and forced myself to turn around, my legs feeling weak as I shakily walked over to the table and slid into the seat. Resting my forehead in my hands, I tried to focus on my breathing, pushing down the nearly overwhelming urge to go after the Agent. It took a few minutes, but slowly my muscles began to relax, and my breathing became less shallow and jagged. The fear was still there, but it wasn't the near-paralyzing terror that it had been, though I knew that if I didn't find something to occupy my mind, it would slowly creep its way back in.

Though the Agent had taken his calming weave or whatever it was, with him when he left, his shield remained, an ever-persistent barrier between me and my awen. I'd had so much else on my mind before that I'd been able to ignore it, but now it was the distraction I needed. Other than for a few minutes while Ben was teaching me to weave shields, I had never been cut off before, and I was surprised by how vulnerable it made me feel, especially since I routinely went entire weeks without using my awen, if I didn't have a job, but there was something different about not using it and not being able to use it. Licking my lips, I wished I'd taken up his offer of a glass of water.

I started by simply inspected the shield, searching for some weakness or small defect that I might be able to exploit if given time. Revisiting the techniques I learned when I was first taught to touch my awen I mentally probed at the shield, letting my mind glide across the weave. All I needed was to find a strand that was a little loose, a thread that was a little weaker than the rest.

After a few minutes, I gave up. It was solid, an impenetrable force, guarding my awen as securely as a vault guarded its wealth. It didn't matter anyway. Outside were more than a dozen agents, any one of which could bring me down as easily as a great white would an injured seal, even if I had full use of my awen.

The constant rhythmic ticking of the clock was starting to wear on my nerves when the door finally opened. A man in his mid-fifties who was just shy of portly walked in. Tall and broad, he was intimidating despite the bulge around his waist. He looked like someone who used to be in great shape, but years of sitting behind a desk had allowed a layer of fat to settle over the muscle. He had short salt and pepper hair and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on a short nose. Placing a file, notepad, ink pen, and a plastic evidence bag containing the blue phone I'd left in my apartment on the table, he sat down.

I internally flinched a little when I saw my name printed clearly across the file tab, Desirae Marie Cradle. There was a time when I wouldn't have thought twice about it, of course, that was who I was, but now I wasn't so sure. Regardless of if that was who I really was or not, the file was thicker than what I thought my sixteen years warranted. What was all in there?

"I'm Supervisory Agent Angus Grimes," he said, thumbing open my file. "Can I get you anything before we begin Miss. Cradle?" When he finally looked at me, his eyes were a grayish blue that seemed to pin me to my chair.

I'd been practically dying for a glass of water earlier, and my mouth and throat felt dry, but I was too nervous to do anything but slightly shake my head. It was probably for the best. If I tried to drink anything now, I'd only choke on it anyways.

"Then let's get started," he said, flipping open the file. "Last night you made a phone call to this office advising you had information on an illegal crossing. Is that correct?"

"Yes." With my phone already in his possession, there was no point in denying it.

"And how did you come by this information?"

This was where I'd considered making up a story. I'd concocted and rejected half a dozen on the drive here, but each had snags that would unravel under the right questioning. I also thought about asking for a deal up front, but how do you ask for immunity from something without admitting what it was first? Our judicial system wasn't like the humans you weren't innocent until proven guilty, there was no jury of your peers, and nothing was off the record or inadmissible. In the end, I had decided to be a hundred percent truthful, or at least ninety percent.

"Because I'm the one who made the crossing."

His back stiffened as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He studied me for a moment before leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "So you're freely admitting to illegally crossing the veil?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

He hadn't expected me to incriminate myself so quickly. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. If I was so willing to admit to this, what was I trying to cover up?

"Yes," I said, my voice cracking slightly. I wanted to slink down in my chair, but I forced myself to sit up, back straight.

"Do you know that they're investigating that incident as a terrorist attack?"

My breath hitched in the back of my throat, and I became light headed as the blood drain from my face. Suddenly there didn't seem like there was enough oxygen in the room. Here they were, investigating me for possible terrorism, and I was about ready to admit to treason as well. I'd be lucky to get life in prison.

"I swear I didn't mean any harm," I said my voice quivering while moisture pooled in the corner of my eyes.

This was definitely far beyond the worst-case scenario I'd imagined. My mind had been so preoccupied with the shifter that I hadn't even considered the consequences for what happened in the market. The Faye and Tuatha governments didn't get along, but of course, something like this would have been reported.

"I panicked, and things just got way out of hand." The tears were flowing freely now, and I tried to wipe them away with the tips of my fingers.

"Seventeen people reportedly injured, several seriously, and you meant no harm?" he said, one eyebrow arching as he tilted his head to the side.

I sat there sniffling, my fingers pressed to the top of my nose as I tried to stifle the tears. There was nothing I could say, regardless of my intentions people were hurt, at least he hadn't mentioned any deaths, I didn't think I could live with myself if I'd actually killed someone. Sighing, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue handkerchief. Leaning over, he passed it across the table to me. He sat silently as I wiped my eyes and nose, giving me a moment to try to regain some composure.

"What were you doing there?" he asked when my tears had finally subsided.

"I was there to escort someone across the border."

"Have you done this before?"

"Yes, several times."

"At whose request?"

"Jason Price." I barely hesitated before giving the name.

Jason had basically saved my life or at least made it much less perilous when he offered to let me work for him, not that the arrangement was solely or even mainly for my benefit. Crossing the veil was not a common talent and most of those who could where offered positions working for the Council, some of them for the Vanguard. The weave itself was considered a state secret, and using it was illegal unless authorized by the Council.

Giving his name to the authorities was kind of a crappy way to repay him, but it wasn't like they weren't already aware of him. Since I'd been with him, he'd moved his operation twice because the Vanguard was getting a little too close for comfort. Besides, I partially blamed him for my situation. After all, I wouldn't be here if he hadn't sent me to pick up the shifter in the first place, it was his job to vet the clients, or if I'd had even the slightest confidence that he'd have notified someone himself. This whole situation was as much his fault as mine.

"How long have you been working for Mr. Price?" Agent Grimes asked, his pen scratching across the paper.

I could tell that he was going to start focusing on Jason; after all, he had no reason to think this hadn't been a regular smuggling job. I knew he had his questions lined up, a predetermined set meant to extract the most information from me, but there was only one piece of information I had come to give.

"He was a shifter," I said, interrupting him as he tried to repeat the question.

He dropped his pen which rolled off the desk and onto the floor. It would have been comical if I hadn't just admitted to a treasonous offense. One that if I was an adult could very well get me bound or executed. It might still.

"How do you know?" he asked, after an extended pause as he reached down to retrieve his pen. I couldn't suppress a sigh. This was my conversation with Ben all over again.

I once again went over how I knew he was a shifter, and yes, I did bring him over knowing full well what he was. He sat in silence, processing what I'd said. He'd probably thought that the incident in Galicia was the big crime here, that the rest was just a low-level smuggling confession; instead, he'd gotten a potential time bomb.

"I want to know exactly where you brought him through and what he looks like," he said, pushing over the notepad and pen.

He watched me, his eyes never leaving my face as I quickly scribbled the same map I'd given to Ben along with a description, though I wasn't sure what use that was when he could look like anyone.  
He snatched up the pad as soon as I stopped writing, only glancing at it for a second before tearing off the sheet and passing the rest of the notepad back to me. "I want dates, times, locations, and descriptions of everyone you've brought across," he said, tapping the paper for emphasis. "I also want names and descriptions of your associates. I hope you understand the gravity of your situation, Miss. Cradle. I expect full cooperation," he finished as he gathered his files and left me alone in the room. Well, semi-alone, I was sure someone was watching somewhere.

I quickly started jotting down the info on my jobs. I had no names, and if people were stupid enough to hang around where I dropped them off, then they deserved to get caught. I was about halfway through the list when I started to have second thoughts.

For the last day and a half, I'd done nothing but careen from one bad decision to the next. Was I about to make yet another one? From the moment I'd put that shield in place, I'd felt like I'd fallen overboard, adrift in stormy seas, miles from shore with no lifeboat in sight. I barely knew up from down, and I was one more wave away from drowning.

With Agent Grimes out of the room, I tried to gather my scattered thoughts, tried to reason instead of react. Did I really want to just give him this information? He hadn't even brought up charges or mentioned a deal. It would be stupid of me to give up my only leverage without even trying to work something out. But the Tuatha took nothing more seriously than security. Our survival depended on every member doing their part, putting the wellbeing of the community above their own. Our laws aren't many, but those we have are militantly enforced. Would it be even worse to try to hold back? I could just as easily find myself being forced to comply anyway, with no good will to help me afterward.

I didn't know what to do. It seemed like no matter which way I turned there was a pit waiting for me to fall into. I'd spent the last year and a half almost entirely on my own, but I had never felt more alone than at this moment. I wanted someone who had my best interest at heart to tell me what I should do. I wanted my mother.

Chewing on the end of the pen, I flipped back and forth, cooperate or don't cooperate, for what felt like hours. Finally, I started writing again, each line coming a little easier than the one before, as I came to terms with the fact that it was already too late to turn back. In for a penny, in for a pound, at least that's what I thought the saying was.

I completed the list of jobs quickly, but the people I worked with was a little harder. Providing information on them seemed like far more of a betrayal. Grudgingly I started writing what I knew. In all truth, I didn't know that much anyways. I had only met a few in person and had been given only first names. Names that might or might not be real. Even with my crisis of indecision, I was done in about twenty minutes, but it was more than an hour before Agent Grimes returned, accompanied by a slender woman in a tan pantsuit.

"This is Mrs. Avery with the Magistrate's office, she has some paperwork for you to sign before we can get things moving," Agent Grimes said as he picked up the pad from the table and started reading over it.

Mrs. Avery sat down, pulling out a stack of papers from her briefcase. "Alright, Miss. Cradle," she said, pushing the stack towards me. "This is an agreement to drop the treason and the aiding and abetting charges down to delinquent minor and reckless endangerment in return for your full cooperation in all matters concerning your previous criminal conduct. It also forbids you from discussing any matters relating to those activities with anyone outside of this office." She said, flipping through the first few pages too fast for me to really read what was on them. "You will be placed under the care of a court-appointed guardian until your eighteenth birthday, at which point you will be on probation until your twenty-first birthday. Failure to comply with the investigation, court guardianship, or probation will result in the reinstatement of the original charges. I'll need you to initial each page and sign the bottom of the last," she finished, pushing the papers towards me and handed me a pen as if she had no doubt that I would put my signature on the dotted line.

I could have cried. She had talked so fast that my head was spinning by the time she was finished, but I understood enough to realize she was offering the life preserver I'd been praying for. Taking the pen, I made a point of thumbing through the document, trying to skim over the dense paragraphs but they were so full of legal jargon and circular sentences that even if I hadn't felt pressured to hurry, I would have had little chance of truly understanding what it said. Warning bells were going off in the back of my head, but I ignored them. I was a bit suspicious as to why they were offering a deal, one I hadn't even asked for, but beggars can't be choosers, and in the end, this was precisely what I'd been hoping for.

My hand trembled the entire time but fifteen initials and one signature later it was done. She glanced through to make sure I hadn't missed one before placing the stack back in her briefcase. Agent Grimes opened the door to let her out.

"How did you first make contact with Mr. Price?' Agent Grimes asked as soon as the attorney left. He said it as if it was an afterthought, something that had just come to him, but his voice was tight.

"He found me," I said, shifting a little in my chair, uncomfortable.

"How did he find you?"

"I don't know."

"So you didn't know him previously, possibly as an associate of your mother's?"

I had thought it was just coincidence. I had occasionally been using my awen to get by out in the human world. Not enough that any evidence would linger or that anyone not in the immediate area would feel it, just a small bit here and there. I had always considered it good fortune that Jason had sensed me. After all, this last year would have gone very differently without him, but now I wasn't sure.

"No, I didn't know him before." I didn't think he believed me, but he opened the door and motioned for someone in the hall to come in.

"Agent Vaughn will take it from here," he said, as the blonde from earlier stepped in.

"You can call me Justin."


End file.
